


Possibly

by Hematite



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mentions of self-harm, No Gore, Suicidal Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 12:24:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hematite/pseuds/Hematite
Summary: John sees Sherlock's scars.





	Possibly

John Hamish Watson watched Sherlock play his violin.   
John observed his concentrated visage and tranquil eyes, the relative calm in his body language, how still he was. How unlike Sherlock it was, to be so peaceful.   
Sherlock momentarily lifted the bow away from the violin. His eyes lifted in thought, and John caught flickers of what was going through his mind passing across his face.   
While John continued to watch Sherlock, the dark-haired man lifted his bow again, the motion pulling the sleeve away from his wrist. John was startled into sharp awareness, though he couldn't quite tell why for half a second. Sherlock moved his arm again, and for a bare second, John caught sight of pale, faint scars crisscrossing his skin.   
"Sherlock," John said quietly, "Sherlock, what's that on your arm?" John didn't think that he would reply.   
"This?" Sherlock asked as he tugged the fabric away from his arm. John inhaled sharply as each exposed centimetre of skin displayed more and more scars. Sherlock surveyed them analytically, pressing a finger into one or another, "When I was younger, I used to self-harm. Before I used drugs. Some of them are from when I was using, as well." He answered the question in a coldly detached tone.   
"Why?" He was certain that Sherlock wouldn't answer this, with his coldness and secrets worn like a second skin. Sherlock turned his wrist a couple of times, watching the light move over his uneven skin.   
"When my mind was. . . clouded, pain made it clearer. It was. . . a certain freedom, a sure-fire way of grounding myself." He replied, although haltingly. He abruptly tugged the shirtsleeve back over his hand.   
"You've stopped?" The former soldier asked, a hint of disbelief shading his question. Sherlock put his hand back on his violin, but made no move to start playing again.   
"Yes. For the most part."  
John nodded slowly. They sat in silence for several minutes before he broke the silence.   
"Will you tell me if you feel the urge to cut yourself again?" John hesitantly asked.   
"Possibly."


End file.
